


Just Another Angel in Love

by WhiteRoseOfRivendell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Love, Fluff and Smut, Greaser!Dean, M/M, drag racing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21882742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteRoseOfRivendell/pseuds/WhiteRoseOfRivendell
Summary: In 1958, Castiel met Dean, a greaser with a cocky attitude and muscle car that could not be beat. They said their first words to each other over a milkshake and a burger, but soon words would be replaced with the hum of an engine and a night Castiel would never forget.~Inspired by Just Another Woman in LoveBy Anne Murray
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 44
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

I got to know Dean Winchester on September 18th, 1958, a Thursday. It was a cool autumn evening and I had decided to take a walk downtown to see if I could find some local entertainment. You see, we had moved to Lebanon, Kansas from California a month ago. We, being my father, my three brothers, and me. Before Lebanon, we had lived on the West Coast in a little town by the name of Half Moon Bay. It was quiet and rural, yet full of life and I was loathe to leave it. I had friends there, I had a job there, and I liked being so close to the ocean. It was somehow very freeing. I would often watch the horizon from the hillside near our home. It seemed to go on forever. It was limitless and powerful. Sometimes, I would go to the cliffs and pretend to fly along them, a vantage point I would never know. Yet the waves always comforted me like old friends come to call and I grew accustomed to their playful chatter.

Now, in flat, dry, ocean-less Kansas, I felt land-locked. I missed my cliffs. I missed my home and my friends. I had kept to myself mostly; more out of self-pity than anything, if I am to be honest. But the loneliness of starting over again had begun to set in and my melancholy grew day by day. Added to that, I felt like I had no purpose. Back home, I helped manage a small ranch. I kept the farmhands in line and tended the sheep. It was a humble occupation, but I felt like I was accomplishing something. Here in Lebanon, I was just going through the motions, helping my father and brothers when needed, taking care of our modest house on the outskirts of town, and various other menial tasks. I had not yet acquired a job, though I did spent some of my time going through the tiny section of want-ads in the paper. It was boring, tedious, fruitless. I knew the transition would not be easy, but I had not been prepared for this level of loneliness and unrest. My father had insisted that we move here because this is where his work had taken him. I had resisted even then, but he had told me that it was for the best. He had said that the move would be good for me and reminded me that everything happens for a reason. I knew better than to argue. He always had a way of knowing things. 

Now, I was “the new guy” and at 24 years old, the choices in the sleepy little town were rather slim. Still, it was not a bustling city and that was a consolation. I could not have abided the crowds of somewhere like Los Angeles or New York. I suppose I did not have to go; I was of age and could have stayed in California. But with my mother gone and my brothers being who they were, I decided the loyalty to my family was more important. The only comfort to me was that at least it was one small town to another.

So there I was, standing at the door of a brightly lit diner on the corner of Main and Chicago, hoping to stave off my boredom with a milkshake and a few hits from the jukebox. The noise coming from inside suggested that this was a popular spot; perhaps the only popular spot. The age of the people I could see through the windows was a bit younger than I, but at least it was something. 

Living in a town of 600 people leaves something to be desired. 

As I entered, the smell of burgers and fries greeted me against a backdrop of checkered tiles and neon lights. As I looked around, I found that most booths were occupied with chattering teenagers and a few boisterous twenty-somethings. The smooth sound of the Everly Brothers rose over the young voices as the whir of the milkshake machine blended the din. I sat down at one of the last unoccupied tables. It happened to be right next to the front window and for the next few minutes I watched the cars fashionably cruising down Main Street. 

Another reminder of small town status.

A reflection soon showed up in the window before me. A slim, red-headed girl with an impish face was standing next to the table. I turned back to face the interior of the diner. The young lady wore a yellow uniform with a white apron tied about her waist and a name tag that read Charlie. Her hair bobbed in a ponytail behind her, it’s curls coming to rest by her ear as she reached into her pocket for a notepad.

She exuberantly informed me that I was the new guy in town, to which I replied that this was indeed a fact. I am not sure why she smiled at my response, but I returned it nonetheless. I ordered then and she promptly left, bouncing her way back behind the counter. Besides the gas station attendant, I think she was the first person that I spoke more than two words to.

When I looked back out the window, I noticed a sleek, cherry T-Bird had taken up residence in front of the diner. It was flanked by a hunter green Mustang and a black Impala. A few young men were exiting the cars, laughing and carrying on. Not one of them was more than twenty or twenty-one. The tallest of them hung back, while a handsome crew-cut took a scrawny boy into a teasing headlock. The devil-may-care banter was envy inducing. They appeared to not have a worry in the world as they strode up to the diner’s silver door. The entrance to the establishment was flung open and they entered en masse. They were greasers, every one. Six in total. The last to come in was a sandy brown-haired youth with a mischievous look about him. He wore the collar of his black leather jacket up around his neck, despite the lack of wind chill to warrant it. A white t-shirt could be seen hugging his chest above a pair of dark blue jeans. 

I had seen the group of them around a bit in town, but I had not had any interaction with them. They were often seen traveling together, not ever really seen alone according to a couple of townspeople that I had overheard. Now they were sitting at a table cater-cornered from me. I tried my best not to stare. 

However, the young man in the leather jacket must have seen me not staring because he soon looked my way. I blanched and looked back out of the window. I then casually took to studying the salt and pepper shakers at the head of the table, as if their presence was of great interest to me. My eyes begged to wander back to the young man in leather, but I kept them steadfast, focused on the speckled, mint-green tabletop before me. Then, out of my peripheral, I saw him stand up and begin to saunter over. 

He sat down opposite me and smirked.

“You the new guy?”

The question once again sounded more like a statement of fact, so that is how I answered him.

“Yes, it appears so.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen you around town. It’s not hard to notice when something is out of place around here,” he jibed. His green eyes flicked down to my white collared shirt and then back up, squinting as they came to rest on my face, “Where you from?”

I was not sure of the pertinence of the question, but then again, I never was very good at small talk.

“California.”

“You’re a long way from home, cowboy,” he smiled, “What brings you all the way out to beautiful Lebanon, Kansas?” He sat back and gestured grandly.

I shrugged, “Nothing special.” Which was true in all honesty, even if I was allowing a small amount of self-pity, “I came here with my family.”

“Military brat?”

“No, but my father travels quite a bit for his work,” I replied.

“Yeah, my old man did too. He took me and my brother, Sam, along for the ride most times. That’s Sammy over there.”

He pointed to the tallest boy in the group who appeared to be a few years younger than himself. His hair was darker, more of a deep brown, and he had an endearing smile. The boy indicated as Sammy saw him point and gave us a little wave. I smiled and politely acknowledged him. The other young men surrounding him then pulled him back into their conversation, and the two of us were left to ours.

Thankfully, my dinner chose that moment to arrive. 

“Not bad, Los Angeles,” he said, eye-balling my bacon cheeseburger and fries, “I half expected a salad. Don’t all you movie stars have to worry about your figures?”

I rolled my eyes. This was beginning to get irritating.

“My name is Castiel and I am not a cowboy, nor am I from Los Angeles. I am from Half Moon Bay; it is in _Northern_ California,” I said firmly.

He must have noticed my ire because his face softened, though the teasing smirk remained.

“No need to get your knickers in a twist, Cas. But since we are doing introductions,” he leaned forward and extended his hand across the table, “I’m Dean Winchester.”

I sighed and shook his hand. His palm was rough, the product of use and neglect. He held me there for a second longer than it took me to reply, which I found peculiar.

“Hello, Dean.”

He smiled at me, his emerald eyes twinkling in the brightness that surrounded us. 

“Listen, the guys and I were going to drag race after this. It’s nothing big, just something to do. You, uh, want to come along?”

I thought about it a moment.

“I don’t have a car.”

His smile widened, “I do.”

~~~~~~~~~~

And that is how I found myself sitting next to Dean Winchester as he revved the engine of his black Impala in the middle of a remote field about a half hour south of town. The red T-bird beside us responded, a sharp growl coming from under its hood. The cars stood poised at the makeshift starting line as both drivers laughed and hollered profane expressions back and forth.

“I’ve never done this before,” I confessed.

Dean laughed.

“Don’t worry, it’s not dangerous. We don’t play chicken or anything.” He looked over at me. He must have noticed the lack of change in my expression because he pursed his lips and looked out the windshield. Then he smiled and licked his bottom lip absentmindedly. Eyeing me up and down again, he paused and then said, “Do you trust me?”

It was teasing, however I could not get the thought out of my head that it was something more than that. Perhaps I had wanted it to be more. I smiled reflexively, and he winked at me. I may have turned my head then to prevent the powerful blush spreading across my face from being seen in all its glory. Blessedly, Dean looked back to the dirt field in front of us. He revved the engine and I felt its vibration move through me. Exhilaration and anxiety followed. The race was about to begin.

The flag was thrown and there was no more time for thought. The cars raged forward, tires spinning on the dirt, pitching gravel up in clouds behind them. The force of the take-off threw me back into my seat and I did my best not to grab the arm rest. I think I did anyway.

Dean’s face was that of concentration as his left hand gripped the steering wheel tight, his right steady on the gear shift. Though his stare was focused, his brow did not furrow and a slight upturn of his lips let me know that this was more fun than competition. He moved through the gears with practiced ease as he watched the darkened landscape whizz by.

“Think we’re going to lose?” He asked without turning his head.

Catching the breath I didn’t know I had lost, I responded, “The other car looks to be ahead of us.”

“Oh yeah?” He grinned, “Watch this.”

He floored it. The Impala surged forward at breakneck speed. It had not occurred to me that Dean had been holding back when he initially came off the starting line. 

He had been bluffing. The sleek Impala was faster than the T-bird.

We passed the tree line that marked the finish and skidded to a halt just before the brush got thick. The plumes of dust following us now blew forward and swirled in the light of the headlamps against the darkness. Dean looked at me. I can only assume that it was to gauge my reaction. 

Adrenaline was coursing though my veins. For the first time in months, I was excited, happy, but I did not want to seem overly enthusiastic. I looked back into his curious eyes, not knowing exactly how to react.

There was a pause, a weighted pause, which was slowly broken by a chuckle, then all out laughter by Dean Winchester. I could not help but laugh as well as the thrill of the ride continued to pulse through my body. Beyond that, Dean’s eyes were now alight with joy and I could scarcely take my own from them. 

He clapped his hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

“Well, you’ve won your first drag race, Cas. How does it feel?”

“That was exhilarating,” I admitted.

“Good,” he smiled. 

He did not remove his hand.

A shuffling of feet and a tap at the window let us know that we were no longer alone.

“Damnit Dean! You always pull that crap!” A southern accented man yelled through the glass. It was the crew-cut man that I had seen earlier in the parking lot of the diner. Dean had later introduced him as Benny.

Dean scoffed at his friend and opened the door, “And you always fall for it,” he retorted as he pushed himself out of his seat. 

I exited the car as well and walked around the back to where the rest of the crew was gathered. There was a lot of arm punching and wrestling going on as they jested exuberantly. A thin, dark-haired man who went by the name of Mick brought out a silver flask, which was passed around. I was never much of a drinker, but I felt it warranted in this particular situation. The taste of the whisky was strong on my tongue, but I held my face calm to mirror the rest of my companions.

The laughter died quickly as three sets of headlights suddenly disturbed the darkness. We all turned our heads to get a look at the cars that were fast approaching. As they neared, I could see a crimson Plymouth Fury followed by two Packard Hawks.

They stopped not ten feet from where we stood. A slim, gaunt looking young man got out first, followed by four others. He strutted up to us, an arrogant look on his face. 

“Still driving that pile of scrap metal, Winchester?”

Dean bristled.

“That’s a brand new Impala, Dick...”

“And I’m sure daddy bought it for you as...what? A parting gift?” 

Sammy lunged for the man, but was stopped by his big brother. 

Dick’s lackeys snickered from their flanking positions.

Dean squared off.

“So sorry,” Dick’s word were saccharine, “I didn’t mean to hit a sore spot...”

“What do you want?” Dean asked, cutting him off abruptly.

“Well, we were just out for a drive, weren’t we fellas?” He nodded to his gang, “And we heard the engines. That T-bird of Benny’s purrs like a kitten. Wouldn’t mind a race.”

“I’m not racing the likes of you,” Benny spoke up.

“Shame,” Dick pouted, “How about you, Winchester? I like a challenge, but I’m not above an easy win.”

“Get bent,” Dean countered, “Baby can take your hunk of junk any day.”

Dick smiled deviously, “Then come on snake, let’s rattle.”

Baby and the Fury were brought back to the starting line, which lay about a half mile from where they had met. The other cars were lined up on either side according to whom they accompanied. Sammy, Benny, Mick, Garth, and Arthur stood on the right with the Mustang and the T-bird. Alastair, Michael, Fergus, and Gordon stood opposite with the Hawks at their backs.

Dean took another swig from the flask and handed it back to Garth.

“Should you be doing that?” I asked cautiously.

“Helps me to not punch people in the face,” Dean replied. He rubbed his hands together, “Right, okay. You riding?” He looked at me expectantly.

I immediately flashed back to the earlier race and the feelings of exhilaration and excitement it brought about within me. As I looked back into the handsome face of the man in front of me, I felt compelled to say yes. I gazed into his green eyes; they spoke to me in a way that I had never bothered to notice in a human being before. As I listened to them, I thought that I may have even heard a need for my answer to be yes. It made my heart beat a little faster. 

I paused. The words needed to answer in the affirmative were stuck somewhere between my mind and my mouth.

Then there it came, a slight up-turn at the corner of my lips. Yet another smiled was pulled from me by Dean Winchester. He seemed to have a knack for it. The affirming words would still not come, but it was no matter. He knew what was meant.

Dean’s stance relaxed and he grinned back at me, “Let’s go kick some ass.”

As soon as the flag dropped, we were once again off and running. Dean, of course, held back so as not to seem overly confident. I think it was just his way, although perhaps he was trying to impress me. At the time, the thought didn’t enter my mind; I was too busy focusing on the midnight hues of the open field that were rushing past us. I glanced at the speedometer. Fifty-five mph and climbing. I knew that it had been mere seconds, but it felt like quite a bit longer. 

We were flying and he wasn’t even at top speed. 

Purposeful and clever. 

I was learning who Dean Winchester was through the hum of a 58’ Impala. 

Flight notwithstanding, the devilish Fury was right there beside us. I glanced over to see a very smug Dick staring right back. It was then that I realized, this was not his top speed either. What may have fooled Benny, was not about to fool him. He would intermittently lay off the gas, then push forward. The miscreant was toying with us.

“Sack of shit,” Dean said under his breath. 

I took my eyes off of our opponent and calmly focused them on my companion. 

“Then don’t lose.”

For the first time, Dean took his eyes off the road. He looked at me with a hint of surprise. Upon seeing my level stare, his countenance quickly turned to devilish determination. He turned back to the wheel and smiled. The Impala surged forward once again. Faster and faster it flew. The wheels all but hovered over the rough as we gained ground. The tree line would be upon us in no time. 

Suddenly, the Fury reared to the right, almost crashing into the Impala. Dean swerved reflexively to avoid being hit, but had to immediately correct to narrowly miss a small tree that marked the edge of the finish line. Baby fish tailed, but Dean held on with well-practiced equanimity and cunning expertise. We finally skidded to a stop. 

This time, both of us let out a long-held breath.

Dean would eventually check to see if everything was all right, but not before throwing the car into park and slamming open the door.

“You sonofabitch!” He cried as he stormed toward the other car. His fists were clenched at his sides, ready to swing.

And swing he did. 

As Dick came around the outside of his Fury, Dean’s arm swung hard. His fist hit the mark and the other man went down. He fell backward against the trunk and slid into the dirt. Dick lay there laughing as he wiped the blood from his lip 

“You could have just told me that you loved me, Winchester.”

By this time, the rest of his crew had caught up and were advancing on Dean. Dick slowly got up and leaned back against the car. His nonchalance was palpable. Outwardly, Dean became more incensed, but his body betrayed him. Dick was a force to be reckoned with among the youth of the town and Dean knew it. He held his hands down by his sides once more. They shook ever so slightly, but enough to be seen had he not put it them to the shadows. Dean was nervous.

I did the only thing I could think to do. I got out, stood by his side, and waited for the onslaught.

“Aww, now isn’t that sweet?” Dick snickered, “He brought his girlfriend.”

I glanced at Dean. I could not discern what the look was on his face, but I knew it was not an amiable one. 

“Are you going to talk all night, or are we doing this?” Dean responded.

Dick pursed his lips and tutted, “So anxious, yet there you stand. Come on, Dean,” his grin widened, “Let’s dance.”

Despite their bravado, the four men turned out to be less skilled than I had thought. Unfortunately, our opponents got in a few good punches before it was over. The one called Alastair gave me the most trouble. Of the four, he was the most skilled. However, I had been trained to fight since I was young and it was obvious that Dean had been in many an altercation. We fought back to back. We fought well. Thankfully, the playing field evened out once Sam and the others arrived. They had not been far behind Dick’s minions and every one of them had jumped into the fray without hesitation. In the end, both sides had bloody noses and split lips. I myself received a blow that would result in a shiner, but it was no matter. The night was ours.

Dick and his cronies walked away, but not before getting in a few jibes tossed over their shoulders. They piled into the car and drove away, revving the engine as loudly as possible.

“That guy is such an asshole,” Garth groused as Sam helped him up.

“Yeah, well they’re the ones that got the most blood spilled,” Dean looked around at the group, “Everybody ok?”

Murmurs of assent were heard from each of the men who now stood in a circle in front of the Impala.

~~~~~~~~~~

Lean shadows stretched over the sparse grass and gravel as their owners swayed from endorphins and exertion. Each dark form played on the terrain as the young men proceeded to converse about the nights events. A flask was once again passed around and everyone took a share without question. When it finally came up empty, the conversation waned as well.

After that, the rest of the group decided to call it a night. They walked back to the cars that had been left at the starting line, all but forgotten in the chaos. 

We watched as the two sets of red tail lights grew dimmer and dimmer, finally disappearing altogether. 

Only Dean and I remained.

“So,” he began after a pause, “you want a ride home, or you know, we could cruise for a while?”

I found it peculiar how Dean’s demeanor changed when we no longer had company. He seemed more diffident and unguarded; not the brash, confident rogue that he personified to his companions. I could now tell that this guise had been developed as a necessity. Dean Winchester was the eldest of a family that had lost its patriarch, and from this, he carried the world on his shoulders. It was a burden that he had never been asked to bear, but had accepted without question. I admired him for that. Even then, I knew he was not only a proud man, but a strong one.

I looked back toward where the Mustang and T-bird had disappeared in the distance, “What about Sam?”

“Sammy? Don’t worry about him. He’s probably going to get dropped off at Gabriel’s. He’s been hanging out with this guy lately. I can’t say I mind. Sam is such a bookworm; I’m glad he’s getting out of the house. He doesn’t have many friends of his own. Though, I wish I knew the guy better.”

“Gabriel?” I asked incredulously, “Gabriel who?”

Dean looked at me with curiosity, “Just Gabriel, I don’t know his last name. He’s new around here and...” The wheels in his head began to turn, “He’s one of your brothers, isn’t he?”

I shrugged, “It would seem so.”

“Man, that’s weird,” he clapped me on the shoulder, “Small world, huh,” he added. Quickly taking his hand back, he laughed and nervously and looked down at his feet, “Are you...are you close? You know...with your brothers?”

“Yes, although we were more so before. You see, I am the youngest. Balthazar, Raphael, and I live with our father. Gabriel decided that he would move here with us, but he no longer wished to live under our father’s roof. He has been more distant lately. I suppose this explains a lot. Gabriel can be...challenging; he doesn’t always make friends easily.”

“Yeah, Sammy never has either.”

We stood in an awkward silence. 

Dean took out the other flask from earlier. Apparently, he had kept it in his back pocket the whole time. He took a long pull and offered it to me. I took it without thinking and mirrored his actions. The taste was getting sweeter and easier to manage. I was almost beginning to like it.

We wound up sitting on the hood of the Impala talking for what seemed like ages. I found out that Dean was actually very intelligent, more so than would be identified with his outward persona. He was funny as well, and a bit silly when the moment took him. The bad boy facade that he tried so hard to portray to others was only a small part of who he really was. He was a fighter indeed, but there was a vulnerability to him that lay just beneath the surface. I got the impression that only a select few were allowed below the water line. I could not help but think that I could happily drown in its depths.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if everything was different?” Dean asked suddenly, tilting his head to look at me.

We were now lying on our backs, sprawled out on Baby like the drunkards that we were. His hands cushioned the back of his head while mine rested atop my stomach. It was not the most comfortable place in the world to lay, but the combination of the whisky and the company made it the only place I cared to be at that moment.

“Things are not different, Dean. I don’t see the point in imagining them to be so,” I said, doing my best to stick to my own logic.

He turned on his side, his head propped up, “But, don’t you ever think, like...you and me, for example, what if we were different people, or met at a different time, you know? Maybe even a different universe... one where things were just...”

“Different?” I teased.

His head dropped back and he turned once again to his original position, “Forget it.”

My smile faded, “Dean...”

“No, it’s...” he shook his head, “It’s fine, Cas. You’re right, things aren’t different,” the sigh that deflated him was so heavy that I thought the windshield below him might falter. He was still after that, staring at the night sky as if it held some kind of answer in its celestial bower. 

His exasperated resignation emboldened me and I reached out my hand to caress the side of his cheek. For a second, I thought I saw peace in his eyes before they went wide. Dean sat up quickly, shifting his position a couple of times before he settled and cleared his throat. His arms came to rest on his bent knees and he attempted to appear relaxed, but his demeanor had changed. He was unnerved by my actions. 

Curious.

I asked him if he was alright.

“Yeah, of course. I just, I mean...I didn’t expect...you know, because we are both... ” he gestured to himself and then to me, but did not finish his ramblings.

“Would you prefer I not touch you?” I asked.

He looked at me quizzically; momentarily stunned. I can only assume it was because of the direct nature of my question.

“Uhm no,” the answer had a tone of surprise to it, like Dean had only just figured it out himself in that moment, “I mean yes. It’s, you know, fine if you...want to touch me...uhm,” he laughed to himself and swiped his hand over his mouth. He looked down and did not continue, just rubbed the back of his neck and then played with the blade of the windshield wiper.

“Dean.”

The sound of his name obliged him to look up once more.

Our eyes met. I was enraptured by the emerald hues and curious flecks of gold staring back at me; through me. I began to feel like my whole universe was somehow wrapped within them. 

It has always felt like that when I look Dean Winchester in the eye, that first time & every time since.

“Don’t move,” I told him gently. He nodded, though a slight reservation presented itself in a faint uptick in his breathing. 

For the second time that night, I reached for him. Though earnest, the movement was slow and careful. I wanted to gauge his reaction. As agreed, he did not move. I touched him softly. His freckled cheek was smooth and the back of my hand ran easily across it. He sighed and leaned into the touch. I took his face in my hand. His eyes closed, then tightened shut. The slight squeeze was all I needed to know that this was what he had meant in his earlier rumination on life. 

I edged up to him and brought my face in close. 

“Sometimes, different is better,” I whispered. 

I leaned forward slowly, so as to allow for his initial discomfort with my proximity. I knew there would be some. But it was fleeting and I smiled despite myself. I kissed him then. It was tender and slow; a measured kiss that promised many more.

Dean pulled back, leaving enough room for us to see one another, yet still close enough for intimate comfort, “Hey, uhhh...you know, I’ve never done this before.” He swallowed and gave out a nervous laugh.

I smiled, “Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Oh,” he let out a low chuckle, “No, I mean, I have but, you know, with girls. I’ve never kissed a...a guy...before,” he rubbed the back of his neck, which was likely just as red as his face in that moment, “I just thought you should know.”

“Why does it matter?” I asked him.

Initially, he looked perplexed. The question swirled around in his mind, then settled into an small, unassuming corner, “I guess it doesn’t.”

“Good.”

I kissed him then. I did not wait for him to go on. I needed his silence. I needed him to hear me, to know what I had known since the moment I first saw him. It was time and I could feel it like the oncoming rains of winter in my bones. Our lives were falling into place.

The kisses became harder and more impassioned. Dean panted and began to moan into my mouth. His hand snaked up behind my head and he ran his fingers through my hair. I held him closer to me, moving my body against his. He was trembling.

“I’ve never felt this,” he panted, “Cas...what is...”

“There’s a first time for everything,” I whispered to him, “But it won’t be your last.”

“No?” He breathed into me.

I shook my head and smiled against his lips.

“No.”

~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Chapter 2

A short time later, he was lying against the hood of the car, arms pensive at his sides. The slight trembled that wracked his body could have been mistaken for a chill, but I knew better. I knelt over him as a predator surveys his prey. It had not been my intention to pursue anyone that evening, but this human, this man, had me breathless and I could not deny how I felt. It was a fire; a fire like the deep reaches of Hell where the flames do not dance, they roil and twist in agony. My agony only increased as I dared to lean forward and gaze upon his mouth. He instinctively licked his bottom lip and I could not help but graze my teeth over my own. I bit down slightly, imagining it was his mouth on mine. My eyes closed in an attempt to control the desire within me. When they opened once more, he was there, displayed for me over the black of the car, like he was floating over an unfathomable abyss.

I dove in then. I reached for him and felt his body as I kissed him through the feverish chaos of our joining. His hands found my cheek and lingered at my jawline, but not for long. I grabbed each one and held them above his head. I held onto those hands and gripped him tight. His skin was flushed and he smelled like cedar and ash. My body moved fluidly, yet my mouth remained upon his, refusing to leave him. I shifted. Dean’s back arched as my knee came up to meet the apex of his thighs...

He rutted against it.

A soft moan escaped his lips and a shudder wracked his body. He tipped his head up, exposing the soft, vulnerable flesh of his neck. He paused like that, failing to return to his previous position. He wanted me there. He was inviting my kisses to his skin. Dean wanted my mark upon him. It was the least I could do to oblige. 

Upon my action, his breath increased tenfold. I could feel his pulse pounding below his jaw as I licked and bit at the warm, delicate skin. 

It was in that very moment that I began to believe he could be mine.

I felt him below me, a corporeal map of urges and pleas. His body was all at once aflame and trembling. Yet I could not proceed. I needed to know his mind. I needed a more profound understanding of the man I held in my arms. I needed to delve further into the dark recesses of Dean Winchester.

I sat back and regarded his face. There was a minute where he would not look me back. Slowly his eyes met mine; he was all at once squared off and exposed. It was a masculine dichotomy and it made me want him all the more. I know now that it was more than want. Not only did I desire him, I wanted him safe. I wanted him happy, and I knew that I would do whatever was necessary to ensure both of those things. 

I leaned down close to him, my lips evading his at the last moment. I nuzzled my head against the side of his and brought my mouth ever so close to his ear, “I have you, Dean.”

As soon as the words were uttered, a quiver ran through his body. He nuzzled back into me, and for a moment, the intimacy was overwhelming.

In the next instant, my world would change for all eternity. Dean would sadly not remember his next words, but they would stay with me for the remainder of my time in existence, for they shattered my reality.

His hands slowly lowered from where I had previously placed them. They cupped my face and pulled me before him, “No, Cas,” he said with remarkable strength. His hand ran through my hair and caressed the back of my neck. Our foreheads met and I could swear that I could hear all the broken pieces being put back together. 

“We have each other,” he finished. 

If I did not know better, I would say that my heart grew to my chest’s capacity after hearing him speak those words. I had never felt so wanted, so loved. It was as if I had found my true place in the universe. 

I did not even realize that I had been searching for it. 

Dean’s soul was bared, laid out before me as his body was laid out over the Impala. He was given over to me, and I found that I was to him as well. I did not think that something like that actually existed, not for me at least. Yet here I was, and it was miraculous.

I kissed him then, hoping beyond hope that he knew how ardently I accepted his honor. His body rose to meet mine, insistent and hot. The firmness growing between my thighs brushed his stomach and I moaned at the touch; I could not help it. He arched and I put my hand under the small of his back while I had the chance. I worked my way between his legs and pulled him to me. We sat on our knees, Dean half straddling mine, holding each other like some evil force might pull us apart. 

I lifted up his shirt, wanting to feel more of him. I found taut, smooth skin beneath it. My hands traveled the wild plains of his body. They lifted the garment above his head and discarded it carelessly on the hood. I could not leave the warmth of him for long. My fingers were hungry for the softness of his skin, the peaks of his nipples, the curve of his back. I explored his body like a new world waiting to be discovered. What I found was that the dimples at the small of his back were my favorite spot on the map.

Dean pulled away. Quietly, and with a coquettish grin, he unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it down over my shoulders. Only my undershirt remained. Thin as it was, it still seemed to be too much cloth for his liking. He pulled it up over my head. Now my torso lay bare to him and he took it upon himself to bend down and kiss the hot flesh. 

I became overwhelmingly aroused. Desire flooded through my body, yet I resisted. Barely resisted. I wanted to pounce, I wanted to slam him against the windshield and take him until he called out my name. But those sinful thoughts were still held back behind a wall of restraint. Was it too forward? Was he ready and would he accept it? His touch upon my body had been so gentle, it made me wonder if my pursuance was shameful.

I looked down.

Dean’s clear green eyes looked back at me, lidded and questioning. He bit his lower lip and smiled.

And that was the end of my strength. I folded him into me, my arms encircling his body as I kissed his already ravaged lips. My body melted in the heat of it all and I held him to me as if I would never let go, as if I could ever let go. 

All at once we were unclothed and unhinged, rutting against each other in a field of nowhere, on the hood of that wonderfully sleek Chevy Impala. My hand traveled down his side and clutched the curve of his ass. His thigh moved with my ministrations and he opened for me. I readied myself as much as anyone could ready themselves for the most exquisite experience of their existence. I slicked myself up, feeling my own arousal pulse insistently. I pushed into him slowly. I knew how delicate he was and, in that moment, more vulnerable than he had ever been. It was not in his nature to be so, though I knew he wanted it more than oxygen. That is what I gave him, I gave him my strength for his perceived weakness, I gave him oxygen and the space to breathe. He no longer had to worry, for I held him tightly in my arms as we traversed the bright flames of passionate desire. Even the burn that he felt within him for the first time became more of an afterthought as I moved my way into him. 

He sighed.

I moved my hips, circling in and out of him. His back arched once again and he sucked in all breath that had previously been expelled. Seeing this, I slowed myself; I needed him to feel this with me. I needed him to feel like he was the most important thing to be brought into this world. For that is what he was, and what he would always be. His legs fell open then and his eyes closed. He tilted his head back just so, and I could clearly see the chiseled lines of his jaw and Adam’s apple. I scarcely heard him as he spoke his words.

“Take me, angel.”

It was a plea. A prayer to someone I would never truly be. Nonetheless, I resolved to live up to the moniker.

My eyes shot to his. They begged of him the question Heaven knew was lying in wait. 

He answered me then, though I did not utter a sound.

“I need you,” was all he said.

Perhaps it was not the most loquacious utterance of the evening, but it was certainly my favorite, and would remain so for the rest of my years. Because it meant more. It meant as much as Dean Winchester could give. It meant as much as I wanted it to and as much as I returned in kind, for I dearly loved him.

So I moved. I moved and he moved. It was a sinuous dance that our bodies performed as we reveled in each other. I buried my face in his neck, sucking on him as I thrusted. He grabbed my shoulder blades, now panting with need. The scrape of his fingernails sent ribbons of pain unfurling down my back. I gripped his shoulder tightly. I hadn’t meant to, but regardless it would leave a mark. He did not seem to mind at the time, though I surmised he might at a later date. But that was neither here nor there.

I could feel my completion nearing. I kissed his lips one last time under the safety of passion, where all could still be forgotten, but not lost. I took his bottom lip into my mouth and pinched it with my teeth. He tasted of whisky and moonlight. I wondered if I tasted the same. He licked back and moaned into my open mouth. The sound I returned was ashamedly wanton. I think it only served to spur on his arousal. By the time I came inside of him, he was already spent, a slick run of his seed between us. I could not bring myself to care. I looked at his face instead. It was flush and beautiful under the soft blue of the moon.

We did eventually clean up and we got back into the car to settle in for the night. Since neither of us cared to drive, and were frankly too tired and inebriated to do so anyway, we nestled into the back seat. It was comfortable enough and we were sated from the nights activities, not to mention the copious amounts of alcohol previously consumed. 

I sat up and stared at him sitting next to me on the bench seat. He was beautiful. 

His head lolled to the side and he smiled. 

“Cas.”

I smiled back softly.

“Cas?”

The tone changed.

“Cas!”

All at once, Dean’s warmly smiling face became concerned as he repeated my name. He was suddenly not sitting as close to me as before and the light around him was almost blinding. The darkness inside of the the car had drifted away into an array of bright colors. 

It all happened in the space of a second. I shook my head and blinked. The car, the races, and the 1950s faded away, once again returning to the further reaches of my imagination.

It’s true, we were in a diner, and the Impala sat just outside the window. However, the juke box did not play Chantily Lace and the main road of the small town that we were currently working a case in was empty. The young people who cruised those streets were long since grown, and the town had seen better days.

“Hey Cas, you still with me, buddy?” Dean joked. He sat down opposite me, clad in his signature flannel and well-worn jeans. The white shirt and black leather jacket were gone.

“Of course,” I replied, as I always did after being caught in my daydreams, “Where else would I be?” I tried for a smile, but I think it came up stilted.

Dean sat back on the black vinyl seat of the booth and regarded me with a furrowed brow. Before he could reply, the food arrived and we were thankfully obliged to interact with a pretty red-headed waitress sporting a curiously bouncy ponytail. Her name was Charlotte. Dean thanked her and immediately took two fries, shoving them both in their entirety into his mouth. I went back to staring out the window. After all, we were on a stakeout for a shifter and the diner happened to be across the street from where the suspected monster worked. But in reality, I think I just needed another minute to wipe the ghosts of my fantasy away.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Dean asked, a last attempt to glean information from me.

I did not say anything in that moment. I was not sure what the correct response would be. Not the truth. I had learned that the truth, just as sin, can get you into more trouble than you are expecting. So I said nothing; I always say nothing. Sometimes it raises suspicions, but Dean usually brushes it off with minimal assurance from me. This time, I just gave him a half smile and stole a fry off of his plate. The taste was not pleasing, but it was a gesture that I had learned was a human way of showing intimacy. 

I use those gestures whenever I learn them, hoping one day he might notice. Hoping one day that he may remember how we truly met and what he said to me, those four short words. Perhaps it could be said that those little intimate acts of mine are a yearning for what could have happened if circumstances were different, if the universe were different. Then maybe he would say those words once more. 

Maybe he would love me.

  


A note from Castiel: 

Sometimes I think about it. What if we had met in a less dramatic way. What if he was just Dean and I was just Castiel. What if we were none the wiser as to the existence of the supernatural. How much less complicated it could have been. How much time could have been saved; how many tears saved. But that is not how it happened. He is Dean Winchester, The Righteous Man, and I am Castiel, an angel of The Lord, and we were meant to meet in the far reaches of Hell.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Inconsistencies can be accounted for by the fact that this is not actually happening.


End file.
